


Rob & Felipe: Vignettes

by gimmefire



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-20
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>'Til we find our way in the dark and out of harm</i>
  <br/>
  <i>You can run away with me anytime you want...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rob & Felipe: Vignettes

**Author's Note:**

> Four fluffy ficlets, two from Felipe's P.O.V., two from Rob's. (The last part is my favouritest.) Beta brofist to [mackem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mackem). The song featured is My Chemical Romance's _Summertime_.

_When the lights go out_  
 _Will you take me with you?_  
\--------------------

Freckles. They were the first thing you remembered about him. After the obvious things, the accent, the eyes, the grin, you noticed the freckles on his arms. You liked them. Wanted to touch them. Wanted to touch _him_.

It didn't take too long for the first subtle touches, in the brush of a hand or the press of a thigh to another, to earn looks of veiled curiosity. _Is-he-doing-this-intentionally_ -looks, _Is-he-going-to-do-more_ -looks. Satisfying though such lingering glances were, they didn't quite hold that spark, that flicker of heat that said _I-wish-he-would-do-more_. Not at first.

Once you found yourself staring at him across the canteen, eyes obscured by mirrored sunglasses. You slouched down in your chair, Blackberry forgotten in your hand, pasta half-eaten, thumb absently rubbing across your bottom lip. He was leafing through his worn leather folder, framed by an empty plate and a half-drunk mug of coffee. When he scratched his ear and scrubbed a hand through his untidy hair, you stifled a smirk.

By that point you'd moved on from wondering about his touch to wondering about his taste. His skin, his lips. He smoked now and then; you wondered if you'd like the taste of it on him.

He looked up from his notes to reach for his coffee, eyes straying to you. _Does he know I'm looking at him?_ , you wondered, suddenly self-conscious. After a moment, he smiled. You smiled back. And blushed.

You waited for him that night, outside his hotel room.

"Have you had drinks?", you asked by way of greeting, urgency and trepidation in a heady, turbulent mix in your stomach. He tapped his keycard against his thumb, looking you up and down.

"Not alcohol, no." A voice soft, curious. Perceptive enough to know that this was not a normal visit. _Swipe_ , went the keycard. The amount of time between the door closing behind the two of you and what you said next could have been measured in tenths of a second.

"Then I know for sure if you want this."

The words brushed his cheek. You were drawn up onto your tiptoes, pressing him back against the wall. You stilled, so close but not taking, not yet. His breathing seemed quicker than usual. You smelled cigarette smoke and the cool night air on him, and shivered.

"I know for sure...you want this," you said slowly, voice barely a whisper. He said nothing, betrayed only by a wisp of a smirk. You hovered close to his lips, not an inch away from the taste you'd wondered, fantasised about. And there it was - that spark in blue eyes, visible even in the dimness of an unlit hotel room. _I wish he'd do more._

Eagerly, you obliged.

You did not return to your room that night. Rob tasted good, every inch of him.

\------------------  
 _And if you stay I will either wait all night_  
 _Or until my heart explodes_  
\------------------

You don't like to admit it aloud, with your racing driver's mindset, but you're not sure where you'd be without him. You're even less sure _who_ you'd be without him. You can't imagine this, any of it, without him; of course, you would have achieved things had he not been a part of your life, but there would've been a void you hadn't even known was there. Not knowing it was there, would such a void have been painful? Not likely, but you're certain that you wouldn't have been quite as happy.

There is a moment that sometimes burns bright in your memory, when you were alone with him after a debrief and buried in telemetry. He was explaining something about braking distances and you couldn't keep your eyes on the data. He looked up from the sheet in his hand to find you watching him, and you felt your heart thrum in your chest at such an innocuous glance. He murmured _d'you see what I mean?_ , in a way that implied that he himself had forgotten what he'd been talking about. Scores of unsaid words thickened the air between you until he softly asked, _you okay?_.

 _When you're with me,_ you thought in reply. You moved towards him and he welcomed your shy kiss, your first beyond the safe confines of a hotel room, beyond the uncomplicated realms of casual sex. Later you would try to put a word to the sensation you felt deep in your chest, more intense than a nervous thrill; the word you eventually settled upon was _ignition_.

\------------------  
 _Turn my headphones up real loud_  
 _I think I need them now_  
 _'Cause you suck the noise out_  
\------------------

Pranks are a staple of the paddock. Knowing when to play them is key - or rather, knowing when _not_ to play them. For instance, an inadvisable time could be in the middle of a Friday practice session, even one as very wet, very quiet and very tedious as this one. Good thing then, you reasoned with yourself, that what you were intending to do wasn't a prank. Not really.

You opened your leather folder, turned to a sheet near the back and made a few notes in various places, then hopped off the pitwall and jogged through the persistent rain into the garage, aiming for a very bored looking Felipe. He smiled ruefully at you and sat up on his stool, trying to look attentive.

"Okay," you began breezily. "Not going to learn anything in this, obviously, so there was just something I wanted to point out here." You opened the folder again, to that recently edited page. "If you just have a look over this..."

He frowned slightly and peered at the sheet. You pulled some technobabble out of the air, tailing off when the frown vanished from his face, his eyes widening fractionally as they found something scribbled at the bottom right of the page. He blushed.

You wrinkled your nose and shrugged a shoulder, unable to keep the smile from your face. "Bit cheesy, I know," you said in a low voice, nudging him with your elbow. "True, though."

After a few moments you snapped the folder shut, making him flinch, and he did his best to aim a glare in your direction. The lingering blush and silly grin rather numbed any ferocity in his gaze.

"There are cameras about, so try to at least look composed and professional, yeah?" You winked at him, retreating before he can kick you. He did, however, succeed in telling you to fuck off.

Once you'd done just that and were seated at the prat perch once more, you hoped you didn't look too daft, smiling away to yourself. You glanced at that page one more time, at the three little words peeking up at you from the corner - _I love you_ \- before turning back to your work.

It's not a prank if you mean it, you reasoned.

\------------------  
 _'Til we find our way in the dark and out of harm_  
 _You can run away with me anytime you want_  
\------------------

Sun baked, tanned skin, enticingly warm beneath cool cotton sheets. Sweat, just a trace of it. Sweat and him. So familiar. Things that play on your mind when you're apart, wisps of sensory memory. Things you simply cannot do without anymore.

Uncertainty stirs in dark chocolate eyes, whether words should go unsaid. A confession in a whisper, haltingly spoken in a language not his own. "Sometimes y-you make it...not easy for me to breathe."

He has said similar things in the past. How a warm smile distracts him for hours. How he takes comfort in the sound of your voice. How - and he blushed when he confessed this one - he sometimes struggles to fall asleep without kissing you goodnight.

The uncertainty in his gaze, you suspect, comes from just how enormous all this is. There's also the comparable enormity of your feelings for him; you have no doubt that this is the correct usage of such a word, because they truly are enormous. Warm skin beneath cool cotton sheets and fierce, riotous love stampeding through your chest.

" _Te amo,_ " he says in his mother tongue, perhaps feeling safer that way, or perhaps giving the words more weight. You don't know if he truly means them, or if he's simply caught up in things. Perhaps he says them because he feels he has to. You've been together for a while now, he might think it's part of the routine. An obligation. That's just how you think sometimes.

But there are times when he looks at you like you're the only thing in his world.

Weak sunlight streaks the air and dapples the bed, dust dancing in its wake. " _Eu te amo,_ " he says again, closer, quieter, his mouth finding yours a moment later. You are tangled in him, beneath these cotton sheets.

He used to come to you for sex, after drunken nights when you got too close, too publicly, or after days peppered with flirtatious, sometimes explicit texts. You would watch him bite his lip and squirm in his seat as he read them. He would come to you and press his hips into yours, the air electric around him. When you kissed his chest, you felt the thud of his heart.

There was a point when it became more than sex - the transition between wanting him against you and needing him near you - but you honestly cannot say when it came.

His lips press against yours, track down your throat. You are tangled in him and you are serene.

\-----------------  
 _Anytime you want._


End file.
